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Uncle Ned’s Cabin 

BY 

A Son of the South 


Copyrighted 



E. S. UPTON PRINTING CO., NEW ORLEANS, LA. 


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I 


PREFACE 



object of this little story is not 


to palliate the many ills of slav- 
ery, but to show some of its redeeming 
features, and at the same time to show 
that a slave bound “down Orleans way" 
was just as likely to find a good and 
lenient master as in any other section. 
The writer makes no pretention of lit- 
erary ability, but simply states facts as 
they came under his observation during 
these troublous times. 


























Chapter I. 

TT is hard for a stranger, seeing the im- 
* mense levees, built with huge steam 
shovels, required to confine the waters 
of the Mississippi river today to realize 
that before the war these levees were 
only small ridges varying in height from 
three to five feet and from eighteen to 
tw T enty inches wide on top. 

Between these levees and the bed of 
the river at low tide, there was a body 
of land of various width called a batture. 

In receding, the river often left a great 
quantity of drift wood on this batture 
which was used by the sugar planters 
for fuel in the sugar houses. 

The river often left great ponds of 
water, too, on this batture, and in these 
ponds the boys learned to swim, row 
boats and catch crawfish, great white 
crawfish, more delicate and palatable 
than the red ones caught in the field 
ditches, and a bisque made of them was 
considered a great treat. 

The only trees that could survive the 
annual overflow were willows, and they 
grew in great profusion, affording shade 

— 3 — 


for the cattle during the hot summer 
months, and in later years were woven 
into great mats by the government en- 
gineers and sunk to the bottom of the 
river with heavy stones in order to de- 
flect the current and prevent erosion of 
the banks. 

Cockle burrs were an annual crop that 
followed the receding waters and were 
quite a nuisance, getting into the manes 
and tails of the cattle; a cow's tail when 
loaded down with these burrs was a 
formidable weapon, and when switched 
into the face of a milk maid, was apt to 
draw blood. 

The writer and his friends often spent 
hours at a time on the flat of our backs 
in the shade of the willow trees watching 
the flight of buzzards as they circled in 
the air, dwindled into tiny specks and 
finally, faded from view, and many a 
hard jolt did we get in jumping from the 
top of the pig pen or chicken house with 
arms outstretched and flapping wildly 
to imitate the flight of these buzzards. 

The drift-wood left by the receding 
waters was cut into cord wood during 
the slack summer months after the crops 
of cane and corn were laid by. 

— 4 — 


Chapter II. 

The day our story opens, two negroes 
were engaged in chopping this wood for 
their master, Col. Lejendre, and as much 
as they needed of it for themselves, too. 
If they were slaves, their appearance and 
behavior belied the fact. Stripped to 
the waist, their bodies glistened with 
drops of sweat brought out more by the 
sun than by physical exertion. Though 
their paunches bulged out from the 
effect of three square meals a day, there 
was not enough fat to hide the corded 
muscles of arms, calves and shoulders. 

The work they did was just enough to 
keep them in the pink of bodily condi- 
tion — not much more than that done by 
our millionaires on the golf course today. 

They were expert wood choppers, and 
the ease and grace with which they 
handled the heavy axes and sent them 
to the handles into these tough logs was 
a pleasure to see, but a mighty task for 
the uninitiated. 

These strokes were not very steadily 
applied; these negroes were given a task 
which could have been done twice over 
and they took their time. 

— 5 — 


A passing steamboat was a never-end- 
ing joy and very little work was done 
from the time it hove in sight 'till hidden 
by the next bend in the river. 

Other intermissions were taken up with 
arguments on religion and long conver- 
sations with passers-by on the levee which 
served as a foot-path, but was too narrow 
to admit vehicles, which passed on the 
public road. 

These public roads skirt each bank of 
the river on the land side of the levee for 
hundreds of miles. 

The attention of these darkies was just 
now riveted on two groups of boys ap- 
proaching from different directions on 
top of the levee. As they came nearer 
they recognized one of the groups as their 
young master, Albert Lejendre, and three 
small darkies, Ned, Leon Holmes and 
William Holmes. 

These boys were all dressed alike in 
blue cottonade pants, denim shirts and 
palmetto hats, all neat but bare-footed; 
they rode stick horses and each boy 
carried a raw-hide whip with which they 
made a surprising amount of noise 

The horses reared up and pranced 
about and at each crack of the whip 
— 6 — 


their riders shouted, "whoa there, giddap 
horse.” 

They came in single file Ned in the 
lead, Albert in the rear. The other 
group was composed of four boys, too, 
but what a difference ! The three small 
darkies in the lead were tied from arm to 
arm with a heavy cord the end of which 
their young master, George Morrison, 
held in his left hand while in his right 
hand he held a long rawhide whip. 

George was well dressed and shod, 
while the young darkies were dirty and 
ragged and bare-footed. 

The only noise from this group was 
made by George's whip which snapped so 
close to the boys' ears that they quivered 
with fear, having often felt the sting of 
that lash. The two groups met and 
stopped opposite the wood choppers, 
neither one willing to step aside and let 
the other pass. Albert's group con- 
tinued popping their whips and shouting 
to their horses that reared and danced 
about in the same place. 

George Morrison stepped to the front 
of his group and ordered Albert's boys to 
step aside and let his horses pass, at the 
same time threatening them with his 
— 7 — 


whip. Albert then stepped up and dared 
George to touch him with that whip; 
“dare you ! dare you! dare you!” cried 
Albert in a rage. 

“HI put this chip on my shoulder,” 
returned George, “and dare you to knock 
it off;” no sooner said than done; whips 
were thrown aside and after many pre- 
liminary skirmishes and a few ineffectual 
blows the boys clinched and soon rolled 
down the levee. George landed on top, 
but Albert soon rolled him over and went 
to pounding him with his fists to the 
great delight of Albert's friends and of 
George's boys, too, though they must 
pretend to be anxious to help George, 
but were prevented from doing so by 
Ned and his companions. George in 
the meantime was playing the drum 
on Albert's back with his knees and 
biting and scratching, too, so that 
honors were about evenly divided when 
the wood choppers who had been stand- 
ing on the levee all the while separated 
the boys and started them on their ways 
with hearty congratulations to their 
young master and predictions that that 
young bully would come to no good end. 

At a safe distance, George stopped, 


shook his fist at Albert and cried : “Never 
mind, Fll get even with you for that 
some day.” 


Chapter III. 

The wood choppers, their task com- 
pleted, soon shouldered their axes and 
departed for the quarters to share with 
their friends the great news of the battle 
between their young master and George 
Morrison who was thoroughly disliked 
by all the negroes of the neighborhood. 

Not only the wood choppers, but the 
field hands, too, were given tasks at this 
time of the year, cutting and cleaning 
ditches, working roads, etc., so that they 
had all the afternoon to themselves, and 
they spent this time playing games or 
dozing in the shade of trees. Their 
games consisted of marbles, kites, tops 
and pecan tossing; this last game was 
very popular and, like marbles, was 
played for keeps; each boy placed three 
pecans in a row on the ground, one pecan 
on top of two other pecans in a pyramid 
and then took turns throwing at these 
piles with a pecan filled with lead and 
called a taw; the pecans in a pile that was 

— 9 — 


knocked down belonged to the successful 
thrower. 

Pecans ripen about the first of October, 
then the outer shell opens and the nuts 
drop out when the trees are violently 
shaken by a severe wind — those that re- 
main, are threshed out with long poles. 

Long before that date, however, we 
boys had to have pecans, and as the juice 
of the outer shell when green was an in- 
delible stain for hands and clothes, a 
good whipping often followed our early 
pecan gathering. 

On one occasion when the writer's 
hands were thus stained and he must 
either remove that stain or take a whip- 
ping he held his hands on the grindstone 
while one of his friends turned; the stain 
came off all right, but so did the skin, 
and for the next few days he wished that 
he had taken the whipping. 

Looking just now at a deformed nail 
on one of my fingers, reminds me of a 
little incident that occurred many years 
ago in connection with this game of pecan 
tossing. 

In making the taw for this game a 
large pecan is selected, the kernel ex- 
tracted through a small hole in the side 
— 10 — 


or end, and lead poured into the empty 
shell. 

One day a cousin of mine and I of 
about the same age — five or six years — 
undertook to make some of these taws; 
my cousin melted and poured the lead 
while I held the shell in my hand — that 
finger nail has been deformed ever since, 
and I danced so much that day, that I 
could never be induced to dance again. 

Many of our play-hours were spent in 
the sugar house, and we considered it 
great sport to jump from one barrel of 
molasses to another. Now, as everybody 
knows, molasses will ferment in warm 
weather, and in fermenting, expands 
enough to create a tremendous pressure in 
the barrel. I had just made an extra hard 
jump on one of these barrels when the 
bung flew out and the molasses came 
pouring over me in torrents; I have had 
the greatest respect for molasses barrels 
ever since. 

Enough of these personal reminis- 
censes, let us on with our story. 

After spending several uneventful years 
at school, Albert was now home on vaca- 
tion; the Colonel had promised to let 
him have a coon hunt before school 


— 11 — 


L 

opened, and his companions on the day 
of the fight on the levee had collected at 
the big house; the dogs were whining and 
barking, impatient to be off, but they 
must wait for one of the wood choppers 
who had promised to act as guide. 

Chapter IV. 

They had not far to go; every planta- 
tion in those days had a forest of mag- 
nificent trees in the rear of the fields, 
giant oaks, ash, elm, gum and cypress, 
all mingled together. 

A more lovely scene than these forests 
in early autumn time is hard to imagine. 

The trees, yet in full foliage, presented 
the most delicate tints of orange, purple 
and scarlet — no monotony of colors, 
either — stirred by the slightest breeze, a 
totally different color scheme was pre- 
sented, for a leaf that was green on one 
side might be yellow or purple on the 
other side. 

When, to these exquisite colors, were 
added those of the golden winged wood 
pecker, the cardinal bird, the pape and 
many others, hopping from limb to limb, 
the kaleidoscopic was most enchanting. 

— 12 — 


Plowing was being done near the woods 
this day, and the voices of the plowman 
as they directed their mules, the baying 
of the dogs and the braying of the mules 
went echoing and re-echoing through the 
woods as it were to lend enchantment to 
the scene. 

The boys had not long entered the 
forest before the dogs struck a scent and 
started off with their noses to the ground 
running first one way and then another 
till they were out of sight and had to be 
followed by sound. After a while the 
barking increased in volume, but seemed 
to remain in the same place. 

“They got him, they got him,” shouted 
the boys and they quickened their pace 
and soon spied the dogs. 

They had treed a coon and were cele- 
brating the victory by howling and 
frisking about. 

The coon certainly was in that tree; 
but where, that was the question. 

The wood chopper stood aside and 
allowed the youngsters to look and look 
for that coon till they gave up the quest, 
then he took a hand and soon spied Mr. 
Coon's glittering eyes; shot one barrel to 
scare the coon and caught him with the 

— 13 — 


other barrel as he made a jump for an- 
other limb. 

Down came that coon and such a 
“carrying on” as took place under that 
tree with the boys shouting and hugging 
one another and the dogs jumping up 
and licking the boys’ faces was never 
seen before and never since either, till 
armistice day. 

To the accompaniment of Ned’s har- 
monica and William’s bones, they sang 
and danced and kept the merry-making 
going while the wood chopper dressed 
the coon and prepared for a feast. 

“Hush!” cried Albert; “I hear dogs; 
sounds like Morrison’s dogs. I’ll bet 
poor Bob has run away again;” and 
they all strained their eyes looking in the 
direction of the sound. 

“I see him,” cried Ned, “he comes this 
way,” and soon Bob came dashing up 
and threw himself at Albert’s feet, cry- 
ing, “Save me. Mars Albert, save me, for 
God’s sake, save me!” 

Their hearts wrung with pity, they 
devised all sorts of schemes to help the 
poor negro and were about to give up 
in despair when Ned spoke: “I got it; 

— 14 — 


I got it; us is sure gwine eat coon meat 
'dout pepper dis day.” 

"Come on boys, come on Bob, no time 
to lose,” and they all started oft on a run, 
Ned in the rear with Bob just ahead of 
him, and as they ran, Ned dropped red 
pepper in Bob's tracks. 

Shortly Morrison's dogs appeared on 
the scene, and on striking the red pepper, 
they ran about in circles as if in great 
distress. Then came George Morrison 
and his overseer with ropes and whips. 
They stormed and raged at the dogs, but 
all to no purpose. "What's this Sam?” 
querries George as he picks up a little 
of the red pepper and puts it on the end 
of his tongue. "Red pepper; oh, I see. 
Look at these tracks; the dirty work of 
some of our nigger-loving neighbors.” 

"It's no use Sam, this is no place for a 
free white man; they won't let us have 
our own way with our own property; 
what's the use of having slaves if you 
can't do as you please with them?” 

"I think I know whose dirty work 
this is, and he'll rue the day he ever 
crossed my path.” 

"Too late to go any further today, 
Sam, let's go home.” 

— 15 — 


Meantime, the boys after circling about 
in the woods for some time had reached 
the cleared ground and arrived at Ned's 
cabin about dusk. 

Albert and one of the boys hurried on 
to the big house and soon returned with 
extra rations which, together with the 
coon, were soon cooked and made a 
royal feast, the boys forcing poor Bob to 
eat long after they had had enough. 

The evening was rounded out with 
music and singing. Ned played the vio- 
lin, William the flute and Leon the 
guitar. 

Ned, as leader, gave the signal to 
start; a few bars were played correctly, 
then one of the boys sounded a false 
note; "Stop," cried Ned, "stop," and 
jumping up he struck the offender over 
the head with his bow. 

"Wat you means nigger? Does you 
wonner spile mer dispersition? Does yer 
wanner shorten de days ob my life on 
dis yearth? Don't do dat no more 
nigger." 

A fresh start was made and several 
pieces played to Ned's satisfaction, and 
it must be pretty good music to satisfy 
Ned. 


— 16 — 


His duties kept him in the "white 
folks” house most of the time, and he 
could play any piece of music after 
hearing it played two or three times, and 
in most cases, improve on the playing he 
heard, too. 

After a consultation as to the hiding 
of Bob, they dispersed to their respective 
homes. 


Chapter V. 

Col. Lejendre’s home was not one of 
those grand colonial mansions of which 
there are several magnificent examples 
between New Orleans and Baton Rouge; 
the Colonel, though fairly rich, had con- 
tented himself with a more modest and 
comfortable home. All the rooms except 
two were on the ground floor — large, 
lofty, cool rooms — with open fire places, 
wide enough to take huge ash logs, sup- 
ported on artistic andirons that would 
sell for fancy prices today. 

The kitchen was under a separate 
roof, but connected to the back gallery 
by a covered runway. The furniture 
consisted of huge four post beds with 
fancy testers from which mosquito bars 
were hung. The chairs were substantial 

— 17 — 


mahogany affairs with closely woven 
reed bottoms and open panels for the 
back, and I can recall the picture of a 
bird painted on the top panel to this day. 
The kitchen had an enormous fireplace 
with irons worked into the masonry 
from which the pots were suspended in 
cooking; but if memory fails me not, it 
was about this time that cooking stoves 
were introduced, and I recollect the old 
“Charter Oak” quite well. 

The yard was well shaded with ven- 
erable oaks and pecan trees, a little too 
well shaded in fact. 

This yard was of ample dimensions, 
inclosed by a high picket fence, the pick- 
ets of split cypress, sharpened to a point 
at the top end. Within this inclosure 
besides the big house and the servants' 
houses, there were chicken houses, dog 
kennels, horse stables, kitchen garden, 
flower garden, hot houses, and last and 
best of all, an orchard; figs, bananas, 
peaches, plums, grape fruit and Louisiana 
oranges, the largest, sweetest and juicest 
oranges in the whole wide-world; for, 
remember dear reader, this was before 
the day of pests; before the sprayer was 
invented or needed, and what these 
— 18 — 


people planted grew, and grew to per- 
fection and in abundance and were not 
the poor insect leavings of today. 

Last, did I say? Lord no; what South- 
ern home was without its sweet potato 
house? 

This potato house was built of brick 
right on the ground without floor, about 
ten by ten feet and six or eight to the 
eaves. 

The potatoes were invariably yams 
with skins as smooth as a baby's cheeks 
and nearly uniform in size. They were 
dug in the fall, just after the first heavy 
frost, but before a heavy freeze; the dig- 
ging must be carefully done, and the 
after-handling, too, as the least bruise 
caused them to spoil. 

In storing, a layer of straw was placed 
on the ground, then a layer of potatoes, 
a layer of straw, a layer of potatoes, etc., 
until the required height was reached. 

None cared for these potatoes till they 
had been stored several months, and it 
was only about March or April that they 
could really be called sweet potatoes. 

From that time till the next harvest, 
they grew better and sweeter all the 
time. 


— 19 — 


Baked in the oven or in the ashes, a 
thick syrup exhuded from them, and 
eaten with a liberal supply of fresh 
country butter, they were a dish for the 
gods. 

I might mention the dairy, too, but as 
we have better ones today, I'll pass that 
by, and proceed with my story. 

Chapter VI. 

Fine as were all these things that grew 
on the outside, inside that house there 
grew a finer still. 

I see her now seated there in the work 
room with three splendid specimens of 
young negro womanhood. 

Is she bossing and driving them? 
Indeed not; what are they doing? Very 
little you would judge from the constant 
rattle of conversation and the peals of 
laughter, but let not that deceive you. 

Did you see those hats that Albert 
and Ned and Leon and the wood chop- 
pers and all the rest of the people on this 
plantation wore? 

Did you see the pants and shirts they 
wore? 

All these things were made right there 
in that work room, and when I say 
— 20 — 


made, I don't merely mean cut out and 
sewed together; what I mean is that those 
hats and clothes and socks were made 
from the raw material spun, woven, 
dyed, cut and sewed by these girls, and 
a good share of it was done by that 
splendid young girl, Marie, daughter, 
companion, housekeeper to Col. Le- 
jendre. 

She is now in full command of that 
house and all within that picket fence, 
and, indeed, sometimes of the whole 
plantation. 

Descended as were many of her neigh- 
bors, from that fine French stock driven 
out of Acadia by the English, she is a 
perfect specimen of the type; black hair 
and eyes, olive complexion, tall and lithe, 
quick and graceful as a fawn and gentle 
as a lamb (sometimes). 

Watch her hands as she throws that 
shuttle back and forth, how small and 
delicate they look, but perfectly capable 
of taking care of her in any emergency. 

Without regular girl companions from 
her birth, she and Albert had many a 
hard tussle, and when Albert bested her, 
he strutted around the house all day like 
— 21 — 


a game cock who has just won a hard- 
fought battle. 

Nor was she a match for Albert only in 
such rough and tumble sport; many a 
time at the end of a day's hunt she could 
show a better bag than Albert, nor did she 
always come out behind in a horse race. 

In the full glory of healthy, self-reliant 
young womanhood, queen of a lordly 
domain, yet not above close daily contact 
and familiar intercourse with these other 
young women whose heads she could 
have had chopped off without incurring 
severe punishment, yet loved, almost 
worshipped, by them. 

We shall now see her in another light. 

The flow of badinage is suddenly in- 
terrupted; a small black face peeped in 
the door and said: “Miss Marie, Mis. 
Sigbee wanner see yer." 

Sigsbee — “Miss Marie, I am told that 
our nigger Bob is on this place, and I 
have come to take him home." 

Marie — “Yes, Bob is on this place, but 
you are not going to take him away." 

£4 Sigsbee — “But Miss he's our nigger and 
I got a right to take him away." 

Marie — “I know you have a right, 
which such as you will not allow any of 
— 22 — 


us to have much longer, to take him away, 
but you shall not take Bob away, do you 
understand me?” 

'Til take him to the courthouse my- 
self to-morrow and see if there is not some 
law that will protect these poor creatures 
from such brutes as you; now you go.” 

Sigsbee still protested, saying that he 
must have his nigger. 

“You won't go? you won't go?” cries 
Marie in a rage; she rushed into the house 
and soon reappeared with a big shot 
gun, cocks and points it at Morrison's 
overseer who makes a hasty retreat fol- 
lowed by a torrent of invectives that 
sound quite akin to profanity. 

Do you wonder that these slaves loved 
this girl? 

Nor was she an exception in this re- 
spect, as you would not have to go far to 
find many others equally beloved and 
equally deserving to be. 

Again the work was interrupted; Col. 
Lejendre and Albert had been out on a 
visit and have brought a lot of the neigh- 
bors home with them, all slave-owners. 
Marie needed no introduction to these 
men, they were without exception old 
friends; some had fondled and petted 

— 23 — 


her as a baby, and others hoped to fondle 
and pet her whenever she could make up 
her mind to leave the home and people 
she so dearly loved. 

They all congregated around her, all 
eager to win a kind word and to enjoy 
the sallies of keen wit they had come to 
expect from this young girl. 

One of the men had just paid her a 
well-deserved compliment when the 
Colonel broke in with: 

"Enough of that gentlemen, the little 
minx looks sweet and gentle at times, but 
if any one among you has any idea of 
robbing me of my only daughter, I warn 
him in time not to, if he expects to live 
in peace. 

“Why, gentlemen, it's getting so that I 
have to do my own overseeing most of 
the time. 

“Three overseers already this year and 
the ‘namby pamby’ I have now threatens 
to leave if this girl does not stop inter- 
fering with the negroes. 

"The least brushing they get they run 
to Marie, if I happen to be out of sight, 
and then ensues a scene that dispells all 
fear that the negroes have of my over- 
seers/' 


— 24 


Marie — “And if you are not out of 
sight, what then?” 

Col.— “Well, what then?” 

Marie — “Well, then they run to you 
and you spoil them worse than I do, you 
old fraud,” and she stepped up to him 
and gave him a playful slap in the face. 
“That's a good one on you, Colonel,” 
cry the guests and they applaud the girl 
as she runs from the room. 

“Be seated, gentlemen, ”said the Colonel; 
“ I have brought you here today to say 
a few words to you on a matter of very 
serious importance to all of us. Those 
of you who have kept in touch with 
affairs in this country must see that 
sooner or later, some few brutes among us 
slave-owners are going to cause trouble 
for all of us. Have you reflected gentle- 
men that among the eight million whites 
in the South to-day, only about three 
hundred thousand of us own slaves? 

“Have you reflected that many of 
those among us who do not own slaves 
are envious of us? 

“In a conflict between North and South 
over the slavery question can we count 
on the non-slave owner for help? 

— 25 — 


“Is it reasonable to expect them to 
help us? 

“If I need a carpenter, there is my 
George, as good a carpenter as any white 
man; there is my Sam, a first class brick 
mason; Louis, my engineer; Marcel, my 
sugar boiler, and Calvin Baker, a first 
class blacksmith. 

“With slaves holding all these impor- 
tant positions, I ask, gentlemen, what is 
there left for the 'poor white trash' as 
our negroes call them? 

“Very little have they to thank us 
for. 

“Then, gentlemen, I think it behooves 
us, if not for the sake of humanity, then 
for our own selfish interests to treat our 
slaves in such a manner as will silence 
the tongues of our enemies, not alone of 
the North, but of the South as well. 

“If we cannot bring these brutes among 
us to see these facts by any other means, 
then let us pass laws with teeth in them 
and see that they are obeyed." 

“Well said Colonel," spoke up one of 
the guests; “we are all with you on this 
question, but you know full well how 
hard we have tried to bring these things 
— 26 — 


to pass, and how ill we have succeeded; 
as for laws, have we not such laws now? 

“These laws are strictly applied to the 
poor and weak slave owner, but do not 
affect the rich and powerful ones who 
wish to evade them.” 

“Well, gentlemen,” replied the Colonel, 
“I can but thank you for your sym- 
pathy in the matter and hope you will 
seek by word and deed to make these 
mean ones mend their ways. 

“Excuse me one minute, please,” as he 
went out and returned at once with a 
book. 

“This book, gentlemen, I am afraid 
will heat the enmity that already exists 
between North and South over this 
negro question.” 

“What book is that. Colonel?” asked 
one of the guests; “I did not know that 
there had been enough left unsaid about 
the negro question to fill such a big book 
as that.” 

“The title of this book (he passes it 
around), is 'Uncle Tom's Cabin,' and 
while much of it consists of oft-repeated 
calumnies of the South, we must admit, 
gentlemen, that it contains much that is 
only too true. 


— 27 — 


"So you see how serious the situation 
is that confronts us today/' 

The Colonel then ordered Ned to bring 
in refreshments, and so well acquainted 
was Ned with the taste of each individual 
in this group, that these refreshments 
were served in a most satisfactory man- 
ner, for Ned, besides being musician to 
the whole neighborhood, often assisted 
in serving refreshments. 

The guests now took their departure, 
not, however, without many backward 
glances on the part of the younger ones 
in hopes of catching a glimpse of Marie, 
but she was busy with her household 
duties and failed to notice their de- 
parture; they consoled themselves, how- 
ever, with the fact that they would see 
her again soon for that very day Albert 
had notified them to attend a dance at 
his house. 


Chapter VII. 

These dances were not formal affairs. 

The young folks would simply meet 
first at one house and then at another, 
mostly on Saturday nights. 

Marie had for some time been belle of 
these balls, but a new star had arisen on 
— 28 — 


the firmament in the person of Miss 
Louise St. Martin, who had recently made 
her debut, and some of the young men 
were paying her much attention. 

With Marie, this new star, Ned's 
music and the best dancing floor in the 
neighborhood to attract them very few 
of the eligibles were absent this night. 

They had danced several sets and were 
enjoying an intermission when the floor 
manager cried out: “Choose your part- 
ners for a waltz." 

Albert Lejendre and George Morrison 
both rushed to Miss Louise St. Martin 
and claimed the dance. 

Now, Louise was very fond of both 
these boys and disliked hurting their 
feelings, so that she declined to dance 
with either of them and proposed that 
they sit the dance out. 

Albert acquiesced good naturedly, but 
George soon begged to be excused and 
joined the dance with another partner. 
Albert then induced Louise to dance with 
him. 

Another intermission, and the girls 
were invited to play and sing. Several 
of the girls had done so creditably, when 
Lucy Morrison attempted something a 

— 29 — 


little beyond her range. Ned and the 
other musicians were passing around 
coffee and cakes when Lucy made a 
faux pas . 

Ned, his fine musical faculties so 
wrought on that he quivered from head 
to foot, dropped his waiter to the floor 
and was indignantly ordered from the 
room by the Colonel. 

The young lady, deeply mortified, arose 
from the piano and also left the room. 

Dancing was resumed after awhile, but 
a depression seemed to have settled over 
dancers and musicians too, and the guests 
took their departure earlier than usual. 

Ned and his companions were busy 
setting the room to rights when Albert 
accosted Ned with: "Well, Ned, I am 
afraid you are in for a good whipping 
now; I never saw the master in such a 
rage.” 

"Yes, Mars Al, I suttinly deserves 
it and shall try to take it like a man. 

"Ole massa aint never whip me yet, 
and I fears hits gwine go hard wid me, 
but you know yourself, Mars Al, I jus' 
could’nt hep myself, jes like somebody 
hit me in the hed wid a brick.” 


— 30 — 


Albert — “Yes, Ned, I know just how 
you felt about it; tell you what Ned — 
I'll give you something that will take 
most of the sting out of that whipping; 
come with me.” 

Shortly after the Colonel entered the 
room with a cowhide. 

Col. — “Where is that young rascal, 
Ned?” 

“Jes' went out dat door,” answered one 
of the musicians. 

Col. — “Come with me, both of you.” 

Shortly there ensued from outside: 

“Do pray master, do pray master, 
you killin me master, I aint never gwine 
do dat no mo master,” accompanied with 
the sound of a rawhide whip on some- 
body's backside, “and I'll teach you not 
to insult the guests in my house, you 
black rascal, you.” 

As soon as the Colonel was out of sight, 
Ned could be seen taking a piece of old 
carpet from the seat of his pants. 

Albert — “Well, Ned, how did it feel?” 

Ned grinned; “Why, Mars A1 if I 
warent feared of hurtin ole master's 
feelins, I sho would a went to sleep an 
dreampt dere was a fly ticklin'' — he got 
no further — his mother, Aunt Judy, 

— 31 — 


swooped down on him, snatched the 
piece of carpet out of his hand and be- 
labored him over the head with it, 
saying: 

“You can fool ole master, but you 
can't fool me, I'se gwine tell ole master 
to whip you over again." 

“And you," she said, turning to Al- 
bert, “I seen you wid dat piece of carpet; 
wat you mean, steppin twix ole master 
and dat good for nothin nigger? Dat's 
wat we gits for sennin our young boys to 
dem yankee kollidges." 

She walked up to Albert and putting 
one hand on each of his shoulders, gave 
him a good shaking. 

“Does you know you is my boy? 

“Didn't I done raise you and nuss you 
ever sins your po mammy took an died 
'count a bringing you in dis world?" 

Albert — “There now, there now, 
Mammy Judy, I didn't mean any harm; 
you know I love Ned like my own brother, 
and did not like to see him suffer." 

“Better for him to suffer a little now 
than to suffer plenty by and by." 

Albert — “I know, mammy, I know;" 
and he grabs and hugs her; “you won't 

— 32 — 


tell ole master now will you, Mammy 
Judy?” 

Judy — “I'll let you all off dis time, but 
don't you nebber put sich notions in dat 
rotten nigger's hed no mo.” 

Albert — “Thank you, thank you, 
Mammy Judy.” Albert grabbed and 
hugged her again and walked out. 

Judy — “Didn't wanner see him suffer; 
did you ebber hear de like er dat? I lay 
ef I gits my hands on dat nigger, Til 
make him holler do pray master for 
something.” 


Chapter VIII. 

Aunt Judy was born and raised on the 
Lejendre plantation as were her father 
and mother before her. She was lady's 
maid to the Colonel's wife, and when 
that lady died, Judy took charge of the 
house and managed all affairs relating 
thereto with marked efficiency; played 
wet nurse to Albert, who was about 
Ned's age, mothered him and Marie till 
they grew up, and was considered by 
them as one of the family, loved, re- 
spected and obeyed by them much better 
than most real mothers are. 


— 33 — 


When Marie grew up and took charge 
they would have retained her as house- 
keeper, but she found that job too much 
of a sinecure, and asked to be given 
charge of the kitchen. 

With two assistants, she did the cook- 
ing, milked the cows, raised hogs and 
chickens and kept the yard in order. 
Besides that, she was emergency doctor 
and nurse for the whole plantation, and 
many a night did she and Marie spend 
by the bedside of some sick darky. 

There was a regular hospital on the 
plantation and a doctor, hired by the 
year to attend the slaves, but the doctor 
was so busy and his patients so widely 
scattered, that he could not answer calls 
very promptly, and Judy having been for 
so many years in attendance when the 
doctor paid his visits to the sick, seen 
the medicines administered and carefully 
noted the effect of these medicines, had 
become so efficient that the doctor was 
called only in serious cases. 

Marie, too, was becoming a skillful 
nurse and had to be driven home by 
Aunt Judy, time and time again: “You 
go on home, honey,” she would say; 
“Fse gwine stay here and ten’ to dis 

— 34 — 


nigger; nutten much de matter wid him 
no how, jus gruntin and gruntin to keep 
from working.” 

She knew the patient was pretty sick, 
but she knew too, that Marie would not 
go as long as she thought there was any 
danger. 

Aunt Judy also acted as a sort of jus- 
tice of the peace among the negroes. 

Before appealing to the Colonel all 
disputes must be fully gone over in her 
little court, and while she had no real 
authority, she managed some how, by 
kindly advice or shrewd reasoning, to 
settle most cases and relieved the Colonel 
of much annoyance. 

Chapter IX. 

Several years had elapsed since the 
party at the Lejendre home. 

Two darkies were chopping wood on 
the batture; they worked awhile and 
rested awhile, sang plantation songs and 
entertained passers-by on the levee. 

They spied two young men coming 
towards them on the levee from opposite 
directions, and as these young men drew 
nearer they identified them as Mars A1 
and “dat Morrison boy.” 

— 35 — 


“I wonder is dey gwine fight again like 
dey done long time ago,” remarked one 
of the darkues. 

"I reckon dey dun forget all about 
dat,” answers the other. 

Upon meeting, Albert accosted George 
in a most friendly manner, but George 
burst forth in a torrent of abuse: 

“None of your fine words, you nigger 
lover, you; I'll teach you to raise niggers 
to insult my sister in your own home; 
I'll teach you not to come between me 
and my girl.” 

“Remember what I promised you on 
this very spot?” 

“Take that,” and he slapped Albert 
in the face with his glove, saying “Your 
friends will know where to find me.” 

Then they saluted and passed on. 

That, in those days, meant a duel, and 
any man who refused to fight on such 
provocation was forever disgraced. 

These duels were of quite frequent 
occurrence, and each neighborhood had 
its regularly appointed oak grove where 
they were fought. The meeting did not 
always mean that a duel would be 
fought, however, for in cases of slight 
provocation, or when the insult was the 

— 36 — 


result of sudden anger, the seconds got 
together and discussed the matter and 
easily effected a compromise, and in 
some cases even forced a reconciliation. 
But the present case was by no means 
one of that kind; the cause in this case 
was too deep rooted to admit of any ad- 
justment short of the shedding of blood, 
and there was little inclination, on one 
side at least, to avoid its shedding. 

The seconds were as widely divided in 
opinion and sympathy as were the prin- 
cipals, for George's party had always 
considered Albert and his friends as 
malicious meddlers, and longed for an 
opportunity to avenge themselves, so 
that even if George had failed to appear, 
either one of his seconds would have 
eagerly replaced him. 

There was little danger of the seconds, 
being called on however; these were high 
spirited boys, and strangers to the word 
fear and both parties were on the spot at 
the appointed time. 

The seconds now conferred as to dis- 
tance and position, and pistols being the 
weapon chosen, these were loaded, the 
distance measured and the principals 
placed in position and handed the weap- 

— 37 — 


ons. At the given signal, Albert shot 
high, but George shot to kill and missed. 
The seconds again met and Albert's 
seconds tried to end the duel, but George's 
seconds would listen to no compromise. 
Again the boys took their stands and 
again Albert shot high, but George shot 
straight, and Albert sank slowly to the 
ground. The doctor and Albert's friends 
bent over him to examine the wound. 

News of the duel had leaked out and 
just then Albert's sister and Louise St. 
Martin rushed on the scene. 

“Too late, too late, Albert is shot;" 
they cry and throw themslves on the 
wounded boy and begged the doctor to 
give them some encouragement. The 
seconds pulled them away and upbraided 
them sharply for such unheard of con- 
duct. 

“How dare you speak to me in such a 
manner," replied Marie. 

“What do I care for your 'unheard of 
conduct,' you've killed my darling 
brother, and I wish you would kill me, 
too." 

George now approached Miss St. Mar- 
tin, saying: “Come with me, Louise, this 
is no place for you." 

— 38 — 


“Go,” she replied. “Up to this time 
I was uncertain as to which of you I 
cared for most, but I know now.” 

“No, no, no, don't touch me; I despise 
you,” and she drew away from him as 
he advanced towards her. 

The seconds now interf erred and forced 
George to let her alone, while she and 
Marie wept and implored the doctor for 
words of cheer. 

“The best I can say,” finally answered 
the doctor, “is that he lives and has a fair 
chance of recovery.” 

Very gently they picked Albert up and 
placed him in the carriage and drove 
slowly off, the girls following on foot 
supported by the two seconds; the negroes, 
too, had heard of the duel and rushed to 
meet the carriage, shouting at the top 
of their voices: “Our good young mas- 
ter is dead; Mars A1 is kilt, we aint 
never gwine see our good young master 
no mo.” 

Upon being told by the first one to 
reach the carriage that Albert was not 
dead, the shouting subsided to whispers: 
“Thank God, thank God for dat, and with 
the help of the Lord we ain't gwine lef 
him die neither.” 


— 39 — 


If Albert did not die, it was not the 
fault of these good friends of his, for had 
it not been for Aunt Judy, they certainly 
would have nursed him to death. 

She, good soul, had often to resort to 
physical means to keep them out of the 
room, so insistent were they that their 
remedies be tried. 

So thoroughly did he recover in time, 
however, as to be able to survive four 
years of hard and bitter punishment. 

Chapter X. 

Summer time; good old summer time. 
In the flooding light of the early day 
which crept steadily along the rows of 
waving green foliage, the earth lay born 
anew. 

The vague music of the morning came 
languorously across the fields like 
sounds heard through a veil. 

Here and there about the great plan- 
tation moving figures were to be seen 
starting about their daily tasks. 

Gradually the signs of awakening life 
were increased, windows were flung open 
in cabin walls; spots and splotches of 
bright color dotted the open places 
before the cabin doors and the negro 

— 40 — 


women moved to and fro on their daily 
tasks. 

As though touched by magic fingers, 
the plantation awoke to full light and life. 

Groups of men started down the. 
shaded lanes to their work in the fields, 
dogs following at their heels, howling 
cheerful and exhuberant welcome to the 
sun. 

About the big houses, too, all was 
bustle and commotion. Quite a company 
had spent the night there, mostly young 
men, but some hot-headed old ones, too, 
and all the talk was — guns, pistols, 
companies, regiments, strategic points. 

Lincoln and Douglas had held their 
debate, fighting had occurred in Kansas; 
John Brown had been hung; Sumpter 
had been fired on, and the Yankees had 
marched on Southern soil. 

What did all this mean? War! 

It had come at last as the Colonel had 
predicted and he was heavy of heart, 
like many another brave man both North 
and South. 

To the young and fiery bloods, it was to 
be nothing but a glorious picnic; as if 
those money-grubbing Yankees would 
stand and be killed by the dashing cav- 

— 41 — 


aliers of the South; they would show 
them how to mind their own business 
and stop their eternal anti-slavery talk. 
The old Colonel saw things in a different 
light. 

True, the Yankees had cut a mighty 
poor figure in the War of 1812, and had 
allowed the South to win the only land 
battle of any note; later, however, he had 
stood shoulder to shoulder with these 
same men, had seen them deliberately 
walk into the very jaws of death, had seen 
them scale lofty mountains in the face 
of a deadly fire; had seen them crushed 
to death by heavy stones that were rolled 
down on them; seen them cut their way 
from room to room in the dark, through 
thick stone walls with almost certain 
death awaiting on the other side. Could 
such men be expected to refuse to fight 
in a fair and open field? 

Who would lead them? That was the 
question. 

The leadership had been poor in 1812 
and good in 1846, that accounted for the 
difference in results. 

The Colonel knew who would lead the 
South's armies. God grant that the 
North would find no such leaders for her 


— 42 — 


armies, or the conflict would soon be 
over. Far be it from him, however, to 
show such doubts to the brave young 
chaps about to start out on their picnic 
under his charge. 

Drill, drill, drill, he would at least 
give them a chance to win their spurs. 

Hark: the bugle sounds, the ranks are 
formed and the daily grind begins. March 
and counter march, quick step, halt, 
ground arms, shoulder arms, forward 
march; and all day long could be heard 
the tread of martial steps, the tramp of 
fiery well-groomed steeds, ridden in the 
masterly manner of those to the manor 
born. 

At last the great day came. 

No more drilling now, but the hardest 
task of all, the sad farewells, the tender 
leave-takings, the tears and weeping of 
wives and sweethearts. 

Such were the parting scenes, even for 
such a short time, even to such a jaunt 
of glory. 

Had they but known, even dreamed of 
the awful tragedy, the hell of cold and 
sleepless nights, of empty stomachs, of 
torn limbs and bleeding hearts and the 
still greater bitterness of ultimate defeat, 

— 43 — 


this sadness would have been multiplied 
many times. 

How fair they look as they march away 
with proud step, burnished arms glit- 
tering in the sun, prancing steeds with 
heads held high, so many of them never 
to return. 

Hard as their lot was, however, the lot 
of those they left behind was not to be 
any easier. 

They were to be in the care of skillful 
leaders, and whenever their lot could be 
made easier, they reaped the benefit, so 
we will let them go, and pray God not 
to make that lot unbearable. 

What leadership was left to the poor 
ones who stayed behind? 

All the best men were gone and they 
must shift for themselves as best they 
could, and that they did their part well, 
is amply told in poetry and prose. 

How bravely and cheerfully borne 
were the trials that were lightened by 
good news from their loved ones at the 
front; but lately that good news was be- 
coming rather scarce. 

The Yankees had found competent 
leaders at last, and with superior num- 
bers, food and equipment, were slowly 

— 44 — 


but surely sapping the strength of the 
remnants of as brave a set of men as ever 
shouldered arms. 

Chapter XI. 

Lucy Morrison, dressed in the flimsiest 
of faded calico dresses, was sitting alone, 
reading a newspaper printed on the back 
of wall paper. She scanned the page 
with breathless interest, came to a sudden 
stop, dropped the sheet to the floor, 
threw her arms in the air and burst into 
a paroxysm of grief: 

“Oh, my brother, my poor brother/' 
she wailed; “shot like a dog for deserting; 
oh, the shame of it; what is to become of 
us? 

“All our negroes gone and I never 
learned to do anything but sing and 
dance. 

“I suppose this is a punishment from 
God for our cruelty to our negroes." 

Just then Marie Lejendre and Ned 
arrived with two nergo girls bearing 
provisions. 

Seeing Lucy in such deep distress, 
Marie took the weeping girl in her arms 
and tried to soothe her; then she spied 
the paper on the floor. 

— 45 — 


Marie — “What’s the matter, Lucy, 
dear, bad news?” 

Lucy — “The most terrible news, so 
dreadful, that I cannot mention it, you 
will have to read it yourself.” 

After Lucy was somewhat pacified, 
Marie and the maids set the house in 
order; Ned brought in wood and lit the 
fire in the stove. Marie cooked some of 
the provisions, and she and Lucy sat 
down to a war-time dinner. 

Marie discussed the menu and told 
Lucy of the various substitutes she would 
find among the provisions for the differ- 
ent articles in use before the war, such as 
tea and coffee. 

“We have found substitutes for most 
of the essentials,” she told Lucy, “but 
have just run out of salt and suppose we 
shall have to do without Till the war 
ends.” 

Lucy — “But how do you manage to 
procure all these things, Marie? We are 
on the point of starvation, and were it 
not for the kindness of our neighbors, we 
should certainly starve.” 

“Well, Lucy,” answered Marie, “while 
we suffer the want of some things, we 
have an abundance of all that can be 


46 — 


raised on the plantation. All of our 
negroes are with us yet, except those who 
went to war with father and Albert. 

“The Yankees took a few of them, but 
they all came back; said they would 
rather be shot than fire a gun that might 
kill their good masters, and now, hiding 
these negroes from the Yankees is added 
to the list of my worries.” 

Dinner over, Marie picked up the paper 
from the floor and read of the tragic 
ending of Lucy's brother. 

Among the bravest of the brave, there 
was no more dashing and resourceful 
soldier in his regiment, and as long as 
there was fighting to be done, he was 
ever-ready to share in it, but he had 
never taken kindly to the strict discipline 
which is the first duty of a really good 
and efficient soldier. 

Many infractions of the rules had been 
forgiven him on account of his bravery 
in action, but the poor food and clothing 
which there was no one at his home to 
supplement; cold nights and long periods 
of inaction had proven too much of a 
trial for his restless spirit and he had de- 
termined to end it all by deserting. 

There had been too much of that going 

— 47 — 


on lately, and the commanders had given 
strict orders that it must be stopped by 
all means, so that poor George had paid 
the penalty. 

Though Marie had never forgiven 
George for shooting Albert, it was im- 
possible for any young girl to spend her 
whole life in such close proximity to a 
dashing young man without forming a 
deep attachment, and overcome with 
grief and pity for Lucy, she folded the 
poor girl in her arms, and with heads on 
each other's shoulder, they gave vent to 
their grief. 

Having regained their composure, Marie 
saw that everything was done for Lucy's 
comfort; she ordered one of the maids to 
remain with Lucy for a few days and de- 
parted with Ned and the other girl. 

She could but illy be spared at home, 
poor girl; constant dread that news, such 
as she had just read, would come to her 
some day concerning her own dear ones, 
the growing scarcity of gold and silver, 
the constant depreciation of Confederate 
money and the freeing of the slaves had 
brought poverty and want where all had 
been so plentiful before the war. 

Had most of the negroes gone away, 

— 48 — 


she would have fared better for she had 
to take care of them while they idled 
most of the time, as it was useless to raise 
cotton and sugar for the Yankees to 
confiscate. Then there were clothes to 
provide for father and Albert, and worse 
than all, means had to be found of send- 
ind clothes to these loved ones. Yet, she 
managed all these things, God bless her, 
with the help of Aunt Judy. 

Chapter XII. 

One of the happy events of the war had 
occurred — the Colonel had spent the night 
with her on leave, but the Yankees, 
camped a short distance away, had heard 
of this visit and the next day they came 
swooping down on the place. 

Knowing full well that they could 
learn nothing of his whereabouts from 
anyone in the house, they tried to gain 
that information from stragglers on the 
outside. Oh, yes, the Colonel had been 
there, had just left, they were told, had 
taken that road right there, but what 
they were told was so palpably false, 
that after strapping several of the negroes 
soundly, they gave up in disgust. 

— 49 — 


They then entered the house and 
searched it thoroughly from top to bot- 
tom, but found nothing worth carrying 
away. 

Meantime, one of the soldiers spied a 
flock of geese in the yard and having 
caught a goose was in the act of tying 
its legs together when Aunt Judy saw 
him and cried out: "Put that goose 
down; put that goose down, I tells yer." 

The soldier paid no attention to her 
but went on tying the goose. Aunt 
Judy in a rage shook her fist at him, say- 
ing: "Nebber mind, you'll pay for that 
goose, judgment day." 

"Oh," answered the soldier, "If I gotter 
wait till judgment day to pay for him, I 
reckon Fll take another one," and pro- 
ceeded to put his words into action. 

As the war progressed, these visits from 
the Yankee soldiers became more fre- 
quent and more annoying, but not of long 
duration, for the least effort at familiarity 
on their part met with such unmerciful 
tongue lashings from Marie and Aunt 
Judy that they were glad to be gone. 

Bad as all this was, it might have 
been worse; this was war. 

— 50 — 


The slaves were free, it was true, but 
the lands were there and the homes, at 
least on this coast, were left standing, 
even if rifled of all their valuable con- 
tents. 

These people did not complain of their 
treatment so far; they had gone to war 
and lost and they knew, or thought they 
knew what to expect. Those who sur- 
vived, came home, and set to work 
doggedly repairing the ravages of war. 

Many of the negroes remained on the 
plantations; they had behaved better 
than expected, remarkably well, in fact, 
under the circumstances. They were 
free, but utterly bewildered as to what 
to make of that freedom, so that when 
their old masters came home, they went 
docilely back to work at the best wages 
the white folks could afford to pay them. 

In most instances, they did not fare as 
well as before the war; they were mere 
laborers now; if one of them died, it did 
not mean the loss of one or two thousand 
dollars. 

If they were sick, they did not receive 
the same attention as formerly. They 
became careless of sanitary rules that had 

— 51 — 


been so rigidly applied before, and the 
consequences were appalling. 

Col. Lejendre and Albert, a colonel, 
too, now, both survived the war, but ar- 
riving home without a cent of money, 
they decided to open a small store on the 
plantation, in which enterprise they were 
assisted by their old merchant, in New 
Orleans. 

This venture proved fairly successful. 

One day the writer was in this store 
when a messenger came hurrying in, 
saying that he had been sent to bring 
Sam, the negro carpenter, on the ad- 
joining place, who was then in the store, 
that two negroes had just died and Sam 
must hurry over to make the coffins. 
I noticed that this messenger seemed 
rather nervous; he started walking back 
and forth on the gallery, when suddenly 
he uttered a cry of pain and fell flat on 
the floor. In less than ten minutes he 
was dead — cholera, in its most virulent 
form. 

Perhaps, owing to the greater care 
taken of the negroes on the Lejendre 
plantation, none of the negroes on this 
place were attacked. Many in the neigh- 
borhood died and several deaths occurred 


— 52 


in the Lejendre quarters; these were not 
home negroes, but some who had flown 
in panic from the neighboring plantations 
from the scourge. And who do you sup- 
pose nursed these strange negroes and 
saved several of them, too? Marie Le- 
jendre ! That I can vouch for, as I saw 
her and Aunt Judy ministering to them, 
myself. 

True, the white people proved immune, 
and not one died of the plague, but did 
Marie know that at the time? Not 
much; cholera was cholera and experience 
had shown that it was no respecter of 
color, white or black or yellow. 

Marie was married now and had a 
young baby to look after, but that did 
not stop her. 

Is it hard then to explain why the 
negroes were so well behaved during and 
just after the war? Cruel as some of 
their masters had been, so many masters 
were of the Col. Lejendre type, so many 
of their mistresses of the Marie Lejendre 
type, that the well-treated and con- 
tented negroes were vastly in the majority 
and kept the others in check. 

Had the negroes been left alone, the 
South would have regained her pros- 

— 53 — 


perity in short order, and with the re- 
turn of prosperity, the condition of the 
negroes would have been improved as 
well; but that was not to be. 

The country was soon flooded with 
Yankee officeholders, known as carpet- 
baggers, who excited the negroes to 
deeds of violence and caused the death 
of many of them. 

Then ensued the days of bitter hatred 
between whites and blacks, the plunder 
of the poor remaining resources of the 
South by these carpet-baggers, the Klu 
Klux Klan and the Fourteenth of Sep- 
tember battle in New Orleans, with which 
we are all too familiar to require repe- 
tition. 


Chapter XIII. 

Fifteen years had elapsed since peace 
was declared; the good old Colonel was 
no more; four years of war had weakened 
him and his heart was not in this new 
order of things. 

So many of his friends had never re- 
turned from the war; the plantations 
were changing hands too, and the new 
owners did not understand him, neither 
did he understand them. 


— 54 — 


Foreigners came in and opened up 
stores and keenness of their competition 
and his own generosity so reduced the 
profits of his little store that he found 
himself unable to maintain the stately 
dignity to which he had been accus- 
tomed and without which, life meant 
very little to him, so that he pined and 
passed away, loved and respected by all, 
especially by those black friends who 
could give such meaning to the song: 

“Ole Massa's in de cole, cole ground/' 

Chapter XIV. 

Albert had been married for some time 
now and the old place was growing a fine 
crop of youngsters if not much of any- 
thing else. 

That old levee was bigger now, but 
not big enough, the people were poor, 
and the mighty “Father of Waters" 
seemed bent on their destruction. Every 
year it rose higher and higher and seemed 
to defy their puny efforts to hold it in 
bounds; crevasses occurred and thousands 
of acres of land were covered with water. 

Those same wood choppers were to- 
day watching the steamboats, enter- 
taining passers-by on the levee, watching 

— 55 — 


the approach of new Alberts and Neds, 
Leons and Williams, who rode stick 
horses and popped rawhide whips. They 
were old and wrinkled now, those wood 
choppers, and the strokes were not so 
telling as of old. 

They were free now, too, but was their 
talk of these days of freedom? No, sir; 
they, like their poor dead master, found 
it hard to adapt themselves to this new 
order of things; they talked of the good 
old days when they were a part of that 
glorious little kingdom with a fairy king 
and queen to rule over them and love and 
protect them. 

What were they now? Only hands, 
no better than the “poor white trash'' 
that they once looked down upon and 
held in such contempt. 

They would soon be too old to do hard 
work, and what was to become of them 
then? 

Would their rations, hats, shoes and 
clothes come to them just the same? 
Would they be able to take it easy as 
they had seen so many of their old 
friends and relatives taking it easy in 
the good old days? 

— 56 — 


Where were the forty acres and the 
mule they had been led to expect? 

Could they expect any help from these 
Yankee people who had killed so many 
of their good kind masters of this neigh- 
borhood, to set them free? 

Some of the plantations were now owned 
by these Yankees. Were they making it 
any easier for the negroes? By no 
means. They had proven the hardest of 
hard task masters, got more work out of 
the negroes than their old masters ever 
had and paid as little as possible in 
return. 

To whom then might they turn in their 
necessity? 

True, there was Mars Al, who was 
kind as ever, but what could Mars Al do? 
He was almost as poor as they were, and 
was there any hopes of his ever being 
able to do anything for them? Not 
much. 

Albert was not a very shrewd business 
man and he let most people get the best 
of him in every deal, so what could they 
expect of him? Besides, they were told 
by Ned and others that Mars Al was 
not paying any attention whatever to 
his business, that he had fitted up a 

— 57 — 


little shop and was eternally tinkering 
at some machine that brought no profit. 

Things looked blue for them, poor, 
faithful souls, just then. Well might they 
ask: "What is to become of us now?” 

Two more years had passed and gone. 

It was Christmas day and the darkies, 
young and old, were assembled on the 
gallery to wish their white folks a merry 
Christmas and, incidentally, to receive 
the Christmas gifts that had never failed 
even in the hardest of times. These 
gifts were more generous today than they 
had been for many a year, and they were 
all in a jolly mood. 

Ned acted as almoner and the little 
speeches of acceptance would touch the 
hardest of hearts, for this was the only 
reminder of the old days, and how they 
enjoyed it. 

The last gift had been handed out, 
the last God bless you, Mars Al, spoken 
— only Ned remained, and he was about 
to leave, but Albert detained him. 

"Hold on Ned, here's a special gift 
for you,” and Albert handed him a big 
roll of greenbacks. 

"Had it not been for you, Ned, that 
old meat chopper would have been knock- 

— 58 — 


ing about the house to this day; what 
made you think that we could get money 
for that old thing, Ned?” 

“Well,” replied Ned, “I tells yer, Mars 
Al, you been ventin things around here 
just for the fun you gits outen hit, and 
letten youther folks come along, make 
a few changes, git a patten and git rich, 
and dey would a tucken dis one, too, but 
dey didden think it worth tucken. So, 
ses I to myself, Mars Al ain't got no 
money to git no patten, but I got a little 
saved up and I gwine git a patten for 
him. If yudder folks kin make money 
outen his ideas, I recon we kin, too, and 
we shorely needs hit bad. Now I knowed 
you was too busy to bother wid dat ole 
meat chopper, so I tucken hit to Miss 
Marie and splain to her what I was a 
prijikin doin and ax her would she hep 
me; so she greed to hep me write de 
letters to de patten man an promis to 
not say nothing to you bouten hit; so 
dar you is, Mars Al. 

“Things sho is diffunt round here from 
wat dey was last Christmas. Dem shore 
bin blue times sins dem Yankees sot us 
niggers free; plenty of us niggers was 

— 59 — 


better off and happier befo de war dan 
we is no w." 

Just then loud shouting was heard on 
the public road a short distance from the 
house and grew louder and louder, 'till a 
white man came into view, wringing his 
hands and repeating over and over again: 

“Fm going to die and go to hell, no 
use praying for me, nobody can save me; 
I am going to hell. ,, 

Albert — “Who is that, Ned?" 

Ned — “Das Mis. Sigbee wat obersee 
for dem Morrisons fore de war, and he 
sho is gwine to hell if dere is any hell." 

Albert — “How long has he been acting 
that way, Ned?" 

Ned— “I hears be ben actin datter wey 
fur a long time round his house, but I 
nebber seen him actin datter way in de 
public road befo; he mus be gitten 
wusser." 

Marie and Louise now appeared with 
all the young ones. 

The young ones climbed all over Ned 
and fought for places on his lap till their 
mothers removed them by force. 

The mothers presented Ned with gifts 
made with their own hands, and after 
— 60 — 


they had all thanked Ned for all he had 
done for them and been thanked again 
and again in return, Ned took his leave 
with tears streaming down his cheeks; 
the proudest and happiest darky in Dixie 
Land. 


— 61 — 


H 26Z 78 532 







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